


'Till Death Do Us Part

by Syntaria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apocalypse, Character Death, Drama, F/M, Gen, Gore, Horror, Interhouse Unity, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, slytherin friendships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntaria/pseuds/Syntaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're like Inferi, but they're not.<br/>When the dead come knocking, you do what you can to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge; How it Starts

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Rizzle's Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse, which can be found here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8611642/48/Love-In-A-Time-Of-The-Zombie-Apocalypse

The first time she hears about it is Easter Break of her Eighth Year. She visiting her parents at their insistence, and she tears herself away from her NEWT revision in part to ease her residual guilt over what she'd done to their memories. They have gathered in the family room after dinner and her father has the news on in the background. She listens to her mother talk about a particularly difficult child who'd visited the clinic that day until her father shushes them, turning the volume of the tube up.

The reporter explains the breaking global headline is that there has been some kind of cult activity in Canada. The city of Moose Jaw has reported that a handful of suspects are being held in quarantined captivity after supposedly murdering and then cannibalizing attendees of a parent-teacher conference. The authorities believe they must have been on some form of narcotic because near-lethal force had to be used to detain them. Some of the emergency respondents and the few survivors of the attack were in hospital with bite injuries. The reporter explains that one survivor described the attackers as 'relentlessly crazy'. 

Her father shakes his head before switching off the tube. Her mother shudders in an exaggerated fashion. They both turn to her and tell her to be careful, because you clearly could never know about people anymore, and that school of hers made them worry enough as it is. 

“I mean it's bad enough that the plants actually bite you, dear,” her mother says. 

She thinks about all the things she had not told her parents about her time at Hogwarts. She thinks about being petrified by a basilisk in second year, about the painful curse to the chest a Death Eater had struck her with in fifth year. 

She laughs lightly, assures her parents that she will be careful, and changes the subject to the cruise her parents were planning for their early retirement. 

\----

Whatever it is, it spreads fast and it spreads violently. 

Her parents send her clippings from their local muggle newspaper. The survivors of the Moose Jaw attack had started to exhibit the same symptoms of the so-called cult. Within a few days it had spread past the city limits and had virtually overtaken the province of Saskatchewan in a matter of days. The rest of the provinces were starting to report similar cases. The border between Canada and the United States was being closed, flights in and out of the country were grounded, but the phenomenon was still spreading. 

Her father asks her if she's ever heard of anything like this happening before, in her world. 

She writes back to him that it is not anything magical in nature. She tells him that it has to be some kind of drug. Perhaps it was even contamination in the water or the food. “Try not to worry, dad.” 

She does not tell him about the Daily Prophet articles. The paper writes about the magical communities scattered across North America. They all report countless encounters with creatures similar in nature to Inferi, but that the attacks are uncoordinated, mindless. 

Infectious.

\----

The fear is a familiar constant that Hermione pushes through daily. She writes to her parents, telling them not to worry about her. She owls Harry and Ron, telling them to stay safe. She forces herself to focus on her schoolwork. 

So soon after the demise of Voldemort, the ministry leans heavily on the Prophet. Everybody is worried, but it tells the people to _stay calm, maintain the wards on your houses, alert the Aurors of any suspicious activity_. They do not provide her with the answers she needs, and she knows that's what scaring her the most. 

She bites her lip and buries herself in researching something, anything, that could possibly explain what's happening.

They may be like Inferi, but they are obviously not. They're something new.

\----

Ginny stares ashy-faced at the letter in her hands. She doesn't respond when Hermione calls her name. Twice. Three times.

Luna places a hand on her shoulder, and it's like the girl wilts. Her head falls forward, and silently, she shakes and she shakes and she's crying without making a sound. Hermione picks up the fallen letter, barely able to read it through the ink gone runny from Molly Weasley's tears.

When the infection had first spread to Romania, Bill had used his network through Gringotts to try reaching Charlie. The dragon compound may have been heavily protected, but its isolation meant they relied on supply deliveries for the keepers. Everybody had been worried that these supplies might be contaminated by whatever was infecting the muggles. 

Bill's contacts report worse.

Unlike so many muggle ailments, the magical community is not immune to this. 

They have lost Charlie.

\----

When it hits the United Kingdom, the panic is instantaneous. The castle empties as one by one the students around her are withdrawn from school. It seems like every class is interrupted by another parent arriving to collect their children, most not even giving them time to pack. Parvati Patil surprises Hermione by enveloping her in a hug, crying, as she says goodbye.

The finality of the word weighs heavy on her mind for days. 

It isn't long before the papers stop coming. Owl post is rare. The professors have given up on even pretending to teach, as so few of the students remain. Hermione throws herself into her own research. Madame Pince gives up trying to get her to leave the library. 

But there are no answers tidily arranged in any index, tucked away in any of the stacks. There is no way for her to solve the problem through cool logic and practice. All of her knowledge is second hand and even mythology fails her. 

Harry struggled to explain in the last letter he'd managed to send her. 

They are like Inferi, he confirms for the thousandth time, but they're nothing like them. They have no master. It is not magic that brings them back, at least no recognizable magic. They attack humans and animals alike, biting and scratching and he's not sure if the ones who are eaten are lucky or not. Because once you've been bitten or scratched you've been infected. The infection causes high fevers, suspected organ failures, and ultimately quick but painful deaths. The problem is that you don't stay dead, and nobody understands why. Fire doesn't stop them so much as it slows them, and the smell is only worth it in small numbers. Nothing seems to truly stop them, really, but destroying the head. The brain. Anything less, and they keep coming. The rich, coppery smell of blood, the putrid rank of decay, the sheer number of them...it is not a pretty picture that he paints. 

He says he can't leave the Aurors to fight the infected alone, not now that he and Ron have gotten to know them, trained with them, _please understand Hermione, give Ginny my love, stay at Hogwarts._

_Stay safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read, sorry.  
> The first proper chapter should be up within the next few days if not hours, and after that, maybe bi-weekly. Depends on how dramatically different the plot bunny takes me; this already sort of evolved quite a bit from a drabble.


	2. Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: a minor character commits suicide

The sun is hot on her face as she sits on the stone steps of the main entrance to the castle proper. She had had many plans for her summer this year, having finally graduated from Hogwarts. She would have spent a week with her family before bidding them adieu for their retirement. They had really fallen in love with Australia, but wanted a pleasant cruise before relocating back down under. After that, she was going to spend time at the Burrow and look into renting a flat with Harry and Ron, or maybe even Ginny if she was interested. She was going to revisit her relationship with Ron, wait for her NEWT results, and enjoy a proper vacation before getting on with her life.

None of those plans had come to fruition. 

Anthony Goldstein reminds her not to get too close to the gates as he heads down the steps to take over Professor Vector's shift as lookout. She hums in acknowledgement and wipes the sweat from her brow. The Fat Friar relieves The Bloody Baron, and their perpetual cold as they pass is a welcome reprieve.

“Why not just come in for a while, Miss Granger?” Professor Vector asks her as she heads back inside. “You need to stay rested.”

“In a moment, Professor,” she responds, eyes trained on the gates to the school grounds. Even from here she can see the creatures gathering, and their moans trail up on the wind. Anthony has positioned himself about halfway between the gates and the stairs, the Fat Friar drifting closer to the quidditch field. 

Though they do not tire, the ghosts take turns assisting as lookouts. They cannot be infected and they cannot use magic to defend anyone, but they can carry messages between the rest of the denizens of Hogwarts. She twirls her wand in her hand and tries to think of happy thoughts. The ghosts are crucial now because not everybody can cast a Patronus. 

Not everybody had Harry as a teacher.

She blinks, hard, against the tears that try to spring forth. 

“Stay safe,” she whispers to her Otter and watches it bound off, past Anthony, past the gates, past all the wards of Hogwarts and to wherever Harry is now. She hasn't heard from him, or Ron, in weeks. She tries not to worry, but it's hard not to when the dead are gathering at your door.

\----

Hogwarts was, technically, still safe. The wards protecting it are ancient, powerful, and have been reinforced by some of the greatest wizards of the age during the rebuilding process. The muggle repelling charms, however, do not seem to work on the infected. 

In addition to the wards, the lake swarming with dozens of species of magical creatures has always been a great defensive attribute for Hogwarts. In the seven years she has actually attended Hogwarts, only the ship of Durmstrang had marred its surface—and then only with permission to enter. No reports of the infected being able to swim have come to Hermione's attention in the past months, and the lake has maintained an almost eerie calm. 

Tracey Davis admits to her that the remaining Slytherins have taken it upon themselves to watch the bottom of the lake from their common room, just in case any have made it through. With no need for air, it is not impossible that the infected might make their way across the bottom and into the grounds. Gaius Harper, a seventh year who speaks Mermish, reports that the Merfolk know to keep their distance.

\---- 

Professor Babbling is the one who suggests they pick a part of the castle to defend, in case the infected break through. 

The immediate suggestion is the Great Hall, as that's where they spend so much of their time now. Some of them have set up camp of sorts, unwilling to return to their practically empty dorms, to listen to the echo of their schoolmates long gone and possibly dead. 

Blaise Zabini shakes his head, “No way. It's too close to the main, and if Filtch has done his job, only entrance into the castle. They may moan louder than a lady you pick up for a night in Knockturn Alley out there in a group, but alone? All it takes is one.” He looks around at the empty hall, at the spot where the rest of Slytherin house once shared meals. “All it took was one.”

Argus Filtch bares his teeth, but they all know he's always taken people getting in and out of the castle without his knowledge as a personal insult. Though he has no magic at his disposal, he had hovered everywhere when the castle was being rebuilt. Any crack, any crevice, he had noted and cleaned up behind the crew; any weak point in magical defences, his familiar had sniffed out. 

Professor Sprout suggests the Hufflepuff dorms, because they're “close to the kitchens and a good jaunt away from the entrance hall”. But even as she's explaining herself, her voice trails off and she starts to frown. 

“And in the dungeons,” Professor Sinistra sighs, “the same with Slytherin dorms, and a horrible choice either way. If they got in, we'd be trapped.”

“What about the Room of Requirement?” Denis Creevy asks. “We could use it like we did last year, to hide from the death eaters?”

Theodore Nott drums his fingers irritably on the table, “Room's gone. Destroyed by Fiendfyre. Doesn't show up for anybody.” 

Denis flicks his eyes toward Nott, frowns, and turns back towards Neville. “That true?”

Malfoy glares daggers at the boy, who sits stiffly in his seat but glares back. Hermione remembers suddenly, painfully, that Colin Creevy's name is etched into the memorial stone, but Vincent Crabbe's name is not. 

“You want to try it, Creevy, you're welcome to,” Nott says, “but you could also try trusting us, like you're going to need to in order to survive this.”

There are only six Slytherins left at Hogwarts, five of whom are those who've returned for the so-called eighth year. Throughout the school year they had been quiet, had kept their heads down. But though they had not interacted much with the rest of the houses, they had clung to one another. 

Hermione remembers the exodus of students mostly through a haze, a week of realizing that one more face was gone from the halls. But if she tries, she can picture the way Nott held Daphne Greengrass's hand in a white knuckled grip as the girl cried. She can see how Malfoy and Zabini slouched against the stacks because they were in the library, that's why she can remember, it was so unusual, Daphne hadn't even come back for the year, so why was she...

Astoria. The little sister. Daphne had come back to get her little sister. 

And Hermione can remember the overheard conversation like it's happening in front of her now. Daphne has begged Nott to come with them, but he'd said he would be needed at Hogwarts. 

Luna's quiet humming brings her back to the conversation. Michael Corner is talking.

“It does have a great view of the grounds. The only problem is the entrance. We don't use a password per se...if somebody doesn't know the answer to the riddle, they get locked out until somebody can answer it.”

“I thought the Gryffindor common room was just as high up, higher even,” Justin Finch-Fletchly argued.

“The Fat Lady also likes to nap, and with the students...well, she spends most of her time away from her portrait lately,” Headmistress McGonagall tells the group. 

“It's made getting back into the dorm a nightmare,” Ginny rolls her eyes. Luna pats her hand absentmindedly. 

Hannah Abbot makes a face. “But if we get locked out because we can't solve a riddle, isn't that just as bad?”

“We'll definitely need some kind of fail-safe to ensure nobody gets locked outside,” Hermione mutters.

Professor Flitwick clears his throat. “I have a suggestion. As head of Ravenclaw, I have the power to bypass the knocker in a state of emergency. If I station myself outside of the dorms whenever many of us need to be outside, I can easily maintain a lookout.”

“Workable, but you'd need to have at least one person capable of relieving you so you don't become exhausted. We might be able to bring you food, but if you haven't slept it wouldn't do much good.” Professor Vector looked down the table, taking stock of the students and biting the inside of her cheek. “We have...four Ravenclaw students left. How does everybody else fair with riddles?”

The Gryffindors turn their gaze to Hermione, who shakes her head. “Logic puzzles, sure, but I'm not confident in my ability to think through a riddle under stress of not-Inferi infection.”

Tracey Davis looks at her out of the corner of her eyes, before jutting her chin out in the direction of Nott. “You think you could handle this one?”

He frowns, tilting his head to the side. “I think I'd be willing to try, but I'm not fond of agreeing to this without knowing the kinds of riddles it uses.”

Beside him, Zabini rolls his eyes. Flitwick gives the barest flicker of a smile before turning his head down towards his Ravenclaw students. “Miss Brocklehurst, as I understand it, you're the one the 'Claws would go to when I was unavailable.”

Mandy Brocklehurst hold her head high. “I've never gotten a riddle wrong, Sir. Not once in my eight years here.”

Professor McGonagall nods. “Then if you're willing to stay, Miss Brocklehurst, no matter what, we'll make the Ravenclaw common room our safe room if the castle is breached.”

Hermione swallows her water and glances to the end of the table. A small collection of first through third years have settled in on themselves there. Muggleborns, whose parents didn't know where to come to retrieve their children, whose friends hadn't spirited them away with their families. 

Mandy glances down the table too, and she breathes in deep before nodding, “No matter what.”

\----

When Hogsmeade was overrun, the residents still remembered Hogwarts. Similarly, whether they are not quite dead or not quite alive, the wards still recognize a magical core. Every once in a while, one of the infected manages to slip through onto the grounds. 

These are not the faceless, nameless victims of plague from across the pond. These are people they have known and in some cases loved. 

There is the owner of Zonko's joke shop, stumbling out of the dark with his intestines leaking down his front. That's Aberforth Dumbledore, left hand clawing at the hair of a screeching Ravenclaw sixth year who had been sleep walking, his right arm a bloody stump.

Draco Malfoy, pale and chin quivering, severs the arm holding the girl's hair with a surprisingly steady cutting hex. The girl falls to her knees, frantically scrambling towards Hermione, who quickly begins to check her for wounds.

Theodore Nott looks at Draco, gives a tiny shake of his head, and levels his own wand at Aberforth's head. “Confringo.”

Hermione looks away from the mess the blasting curse has caused, and she leads the sobbing Ravenclaw back to the castle with only slightly shaking steps. She blocks the sound of moaning as best she can, running through arithmancy time tables in her head. She hears Nott repeat the curse, presumably on the former Mr. Zonko. She tries to focus instead on what this encounter has taught her.

The infected are no longer the people they've loved.

And they are not immune to magic. 

\----

Sharing a common room with people outside of her house is strange, but comforting in its own way. She doesn't have memories of Ravenclaw Tower, and she was drowning in them in Gryffindor. But with the houses brought together, it reminds her of Grimwauld Place, of happy dinners after Order meetings. 

She had always gotten along with the students of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, but she's surprised by how easy it is to get along with the members of Slytherin house. She and Millicent Bulstrode will never really get along, but Crookshanks lessens possible tensions between them. It is Draco Malfoy who surprises her. He takes up position near the windows and stares out at the grounds, keeping away from the conversations that go on around him. 

Neville comments on this one day, "It must be the end of the world. I haven't heard him insult anyone in weeks."

Zabini frowns and leans back into the cushions of the couch. "I'm not saying you need to let go of the past, Longbottom, but you should at least look at the present." He looks to where Malfoy has drawn in on himself, resting his chin on his knees and leaning against the stone, eyes intent on what lay beyond the glass.

Luna nods, playing with her raddish earrings and leaning into Zabini's side. "Silence speaks volumes."

Hermione blinks and understands what they haven't said, and Neville frowns but nods all the same.

\----

Terry Boot is the one to first propose they abandon the castle. Its stone walls are transforming from those of a safe haven into a prison week by week, day by day, hour by hour. 

Taking the Floo is not an option. The Floo Network had been shut down in its entirety after the outbreak in the ministry, perhaps the last act of a resigned, terrified employee, while the infected clawed and beat at their locked doors. This was pure speculation of course. Nobody had been willing to storm the building since the first wave, the wizarding centre of communication rendered to a pit of cannibalism. 

Anthony asks if Portkeys are an option. The debate lasts nearly an hour. Hermione is confident she can cast the spell, as are a few of the professors, but nobody is confident about a place safe enough for them to go. Millicent Bulstrode is not afraid to say she would not risk her hide for anything less than one hundred percent certainty.

Denis asks about apparation. He and the rest of the muggleborns are the only ones young enough left who do not have their licence. 

Hermione sighs and quotes Hogwarts a History.

“Even if we could, that's actually a worse idea than a portkey anyway,” Ernie Macmillan tells the younger boy. “We might splinch you.”

\----

Somehow, and Hermione is terrified of what it suggests, the infected horde manages to actually open the gates. They spill onto the grounds with a surprising speed. 

Luna's voice comes uncharacteristically serious from her silvery rabbit, “They've broken through.”

Blaise pushes himself away from the table the moment he sees the patronus, rushing from the Great Hall. Ginny is half a step behind him. When Hermione reaches the grounds, she sees that they've taken up stance on either side of Luna. Professor Sinistra is casting Petrificus on the encroaching threat, causing them to stumble and trip over one another. This non-lethal tactic had bought them enough time for a few more friendly wands. When she notices their arrival, she shifts her stance into a more offensive one. 

The air is alight with sparks of magic. Blasting and reducting curses are flung through the air, cutting hexes and knockback jinxes slowing the horde. But despite the war they have fought, the staff and students are not all soldiers. Many of the spells fly wild, their castors scared and unprepared to kill. Hermione's can feel herself shake and she hates herself a little for it. 

A familiar, shrill whistle catches everybody's attention. Madame Hooch is rushing from the castle clutching the quidditch crate in her arms. 

Blaise grabs Luna's hand and drags her back, away from the incoming horde and into his arms. Ginny keeps throwing curses even as she walks backwards, refusing to take her eyes off of the threat. Hermione casts a shield charm to protect Professor Sinistra from friendly fire as she hurries towards the front entrance. Once Madame Hooch is all that stands between them and the horde, she unleashes the bludgers. 

They fly through the air and crash into the infected repeatedly. Hermione watches for a minute before she has to turn away, hand covering her mouth and wincing at the sounds. The wet squelch of blood and organs turning into pulp from the onslaught is almost deafening. She can hear bones cracking, but the moans do not stop, because not often enough do the balls crack against the skulls of the infected. 

Zacharias Smith had watched from the Ravenclaw common room through a pair of omnioculours. “It takes a couple blows to the head,” he confirms to her later. Then he sees the shadows under her eyes and awkwardly pats her on the shoulder. “Madame Rosmerta is at peace.”

\---- 

Neville reports that they have lost Michael Corner. The boy had walked into the Black Lake, weighed down the front pockets of his robes with stones, and cast Petrificus on himself. Neville had found his body tangled in the reeds he was collecting for Madame Pomfrey.

Bulstrode scathingly says he should have done it sooner, to save them the rations. Ginny throws her a furious glare, but it is Mandy who stares her down. 

Nott asks Neville if he has destroyed the head, away from the water, just in case. After Neville confirms that he has, they all sit at the table in silence, staff and student alike. 

Madame Pomfrey quietly walks down the table and places single portions of their nutrient supplement potions in front of them. 

\----

Shelby McNeil, a second year Hufflepuff muggleborn, timidly suggests they try to fly out. Even as Hermione freezes in her seat, Madame Hooch shakes her head. She doubts the school brooms would last longer than the scheduled time for a lesson. She's not even sure there's enough to carry them all, two astride as it would have to be. The Quidditch players had taken their brooms with them when they left, and she grumbles that some of the better school brooms had been spirited away as well.

Even so, after this revelation is made, some of them flee in the dead of night.

Neville wakes up to find a tear stained letter from Hannah Abbot next to his pillow. He hands it to Hermione with a closed off expression. In it she tells him that she's so, so sorry, but she has to know, has to make sure that what was left of her family is safe. 

Hermione sweeps him into a fierce hug, and she feels him starting to slump in her arms before he clears his throat and pulls away.

The Grey Lady tells her at breakfast that she had seen some of the students leave the common room, but had not felt the need to wake anybody to stop them. She insists that it was their right to run, to survive on their own. Hannah had taken McNeil with her. Anthony Goldstein, Zacharias Smith, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Millicent Bulstrode and Gaius Harper have all gone. 

Headmistress McGonagall stops her on her way out of breakfast, en route to her post as lookout. As a scowling Terry Boot walks past, the Headmistress solemnly whispers that it's not just students who have fled. Professors Babbling and Sinistra, as well as Madame Pince, have all gone. 

There are certainly not enough brooms after that. 

\--

Malfoy knocks on the end of the stacks to get her attention, and she blinks up at him through heavy eyes. He looks concerned. 

“Granger,” and his voice sounds so soft, “you can't keep doing this. There's no answer in here.” He waves his arms around them, gesturing to the entirety of the library. 

She doesn't say anything. He sighs and sits down across from her, pulling away the book she is trying to read. He looks down at the title and snorts. “Only you, Granger, would be so dedicated to her research that she would read 'Wicked Warlock Ways' to figure out what the hell is happening out there.”

Despite herself, she smiles. “I am getting a little desperate.”

He smiles back, the barest quirk of his lips, “I'm going to leave that one alone.”

It must be because she's just so tired, so stressed and worried, but she laughs. And she starts to laugh louder and harder, so that it echoes in the dark library. She puts her head down and there are tears leaking from her eyes but she just keeps on laughing.

“Er, Granger?”

And just like that, she stops.

She wipes her eyes as she lifts her head, and Malfoy is looking at her like she's gone crazy. “I think you need to get out of here, Granger, if you're laughing at my jokes.”

She hums in acknowledgement, looking around them. The library has always been her sanctuary. Even before Hogwarts, she has always found refuge and comfort in her books. There is so much knowledge to be found. Any questions she has, the library has been able to give her answers. Maybe not complete answers, maybe not the whole story, but enough to help her figure it all out. Through every hardship, every fight and argument, every question, the library has been there for her. 

Except for now. Now, it is up to her to bring the knowledge back to it.

“Malfoy,” she stands, pulling back the absolutely ridiculous book, closing it with a non-the-less fond sweep of fingers on the spine, “I'm going to need your help.”

“With what?”

“We do need to get out of here,” she says, striding down the stacks, “but we also need to make sure we have things to come back to. That the next generation will always have knowledge at their disposal, a place to seek answers, a place to feel calm.” She takes a deep breath before walking behind Madame Pince's desk, the one spot in the library she has never been before. “There's a few books I'll need to take with me, but there's more I need to know will be kept safe. Safer than they would be here. We need to take them to the common room.”

“Take with you where, Granger?”

She looks him in the eye, “Outside. Terry was right. We need to leave Hogwarts.”

Malfoy blinks at her. “We need to leave the safest place we could possibly be? What for?”

“We're going to need provisions soon. The supplement potions are enough to keep us alive, but we'll run out of ingredients if that's all we have. We need to look for other survivors. We need to help stop whatever is happening out there. I need to help. I can't just sit around waiting for Ron and Harry and the rest of civilization anymore. I need to know, Malfoy.”

“We don't need to do anything but survive, Granger. I know you lions have no sense of self-preservation even on a good day, but you're not the average Gryffindork. You have to realize you're talking about a suicide mission. “

She gives him the the kind of exasperated look she usually reserved for Ron. “You snakes are nothing but self-preservation, so you should be able to recognize that staying here is suicide.”

He frowns at her, “Here is safe.”

“For now.”

“So you're just going to put your life on the line on the vague hope that you might find a way to stop this? That you might be able to come back alive with other people? That you just might find Saint Potter and the Weasel? And what do you do if you find them, but they're the same kind of thing half the world has become?”

She stiffens just slightly, whipping her head up to glare at him. “Why didn't you leave with the Greengrass family, Malfoy?”

He scowls at her and he starts to draws himself up like he's about to start a tirade. She watches and she waits, but he doesn't speak. His eyes flicker, taking in the space around them, before his gaze settles on her arm. She had stopped wearing the school robes long ago, and with the t-shirt she wears today, her arms are exposed. She knows what he sees. She knows he's remembering how she got the scar. She knows because she sees the way he deflates. 

He sighs, and she sighs, and she stares at him until he meets her eyes again. 

“If it gets you out of this library and if you actually get some rest...”

She blinks, tired and confused, but before she can respond he turns his back and heads towards the restricted section. “Salazar knows you wouldn't know what Dark Arts books to save, Granger.”

She knows she isn't imagining the pink flush to his skin. 

She shakes her head and pulls out Pince's card index. She doesn't have time to think about what it could mean. 

\----

She finds Neville outside with Professor Sprout. They're planting Devils Snare and Snargaluff at intervals along the gates that surround the grounds. She watches them for a while before turning her gaze back to the main gate. They'd managed to get it closed and Filtch had padlocked it shut, but the creatures were still gathering, pushing their arms through the bars.

“They might get through again,” Neville explains when they stop for a break. They stand together with their wands at their sides. “The Whomping Willow helps with the entrance from the forest, but if a horde gets through, like last time...well, we want to make sure we have our options covered.”

Hermione nods. “It's important to keep Hogwarts safe.” 

Professor Sprout takes her gloves off and surveys their work. “These species aren't used to the winters outside the greenhouse. Hopefully this will all be over before then, and we can relocate them back to somewhere they can survive.”

Neville hums, tapping his fingers in a rhythm that Hermione recognizes as a Weird Sisters song.

The creatures moan, and stink to high-heaven. Hermione can see the way their flesh is rotting, the way it sloughs off them and the insects buzz around them. She thinks about what she has come to talk about, and she squares her shoulders.

“We do what we have to in order to survive.”

\----

She gets into a screaming row with Ginny. 

To be more precise, Ginny tears into her about being sick of getting left behind, of needing to know her family is safe, of having fought in just as many battles as Hermione. She screams at her about having no idea what it's like being locked up like a china doll when her very magical core is screaming to fight, to protect, to help the people she loves.

When she's done, chest heaving in great gulps of air to calm herself, Hermione talks. She begs her to stay not for her own protection, but so the little ones have an extra wand, somebody skilled and strong and loving and so very brave. 

“They know you,” Hermione implores, “they trust you. It's going to get hard here, and you are what they need. You know how to make us smile, Ginny. If we lose you, we're barely surviving.”

Ginny makes an irritated swipe at the air between them. “I might have already lost my blood family, Hermione. I can't lose you and Luna too.”

Hermione cries, and she can see the way Ginny wants to but holds it in. Not for the first time, she finds herself admiring this strong willed, fierce girl she thinks of as a sister. But she is just as stubborn, just as determined in her cause.

Quiet throughout the argument, Luna speaks up now. “Lost things have a way of coming back,” she tilts her head, “and since we're looking for other lost things, or not found things, when we come back you might even gain something.”

“It's so dangerous out there, Luna, you can't promise me you will come back!”

“No more than you can know we won't,” Luna shrugs easily. “Mom never came back. A lot of dead things are coming back now, though, and I'd be upset if I saw her. Maybe when I was younger I would have been happier. Maybe not, since she might have tried to eat me like these dead things. Daddy wouldn't have liked that.” She looks Ginny in the eye, unblinking, “The unknown is scary. You're afraid. But I'm not. I'm not dead, but I have friends to come back to.” 

Ginny starts to blink rapidly before pulling Luna into a crushing hug, not unlike those that her mother was known for. Luna rubs soothing circles on her back.

\----

The day they have chosen to leave, Crookshanks settles himself onto her lap and refuses to move for an hour. When she eventually, gently, lifts him, he doesn't protest. He does, however, look at her with an expression somewhere between disappointment and pure affection. She scratches behind his ears and settles him back onto the spot she's just risen from. 

“Ready, Granger?”

She turns and sees that Luna Lovegood, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott have gathered in a group near the exit to the common room. She takes a deep breath and nods to acknowledge Malfoy's question. 

Outside the common room, Mandy shakes each of their hands and whispers “good luck.” 

When they reach the Entrance Hall, they find a small group of people waiting. Madame Pomfrey hands a small pack to each of them. In it, neatly labelled in shatter-proof glasses, are a few “essential potions and salves, dear”. There's also some bandages, cotton swabs, and a small sewing kit.

Ginny hugs Luna and Hermione for a solid minute each. Neville's hug is not as long nor as tight, but comforting all the same. He whispers something fiercely to the boys, and it makes Malfoy sneer but Nott laugh. Zabini offers him his hand, which Neville takes in a tight grip, putting his other on the boy's opposite shoulder. Ginny does not shake their hands, but she does meet their eyes and nods.

Headmistress McGonagall waits by the door. She wishes each of them luck, but surprises them all when she pulls Hermione close. Her eyes are misty when she pulls back and says, “Take great care, Miss Granger.”

Hermione cannot speak through the lump in her throat, so she nods.

They pass Ernie Macmillan and Nearly Headless Nick as they head down the grounds. Ernie gives them a shaky smile, and Nick actually looks like he might cry. 

“This would be a lot easier if at least one of them acted like they believed we were coming back,” Zabini mutters once they reach Hagrid's hut. Luna wordlessly reaches out to thread her fingers through his. 

Hermione looks at the great trees that stand before them. She takes another deep, calming breath, before stepping into the Forbidden Forest.


	3. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: general gore, child death, majour character death

Something that Hermione had read in Hogwarts: A History that had always amused her, privately, was that the Forbidden Forest had not always been named as such. When Hogwarts was first founded they had called it the Guardian Woods; or at least that was the most common translation from the runes the Centaurs used. It was common practice for the students of the upper years to venture into the woods to procure potions supplies and to practice the ancient rites of “sacrifice” to the dryads and other fae folk who had supposedly made their home in the forest. These customs had been banned by the ministry when the statute of secrecy was imposed, and as nobody had encountered any of the protective creatures in the forest for generations, the practice had fallen into disuse. As a result, or so the folklore went, the forest had become the dark, unwelcoming one that Hogwarts now called Forbidden.

As she holds her wand in front of her, a low-powered Lumos radiating from its tip to help her see into the dense shadows, she thinks of all the times she'd been here before. She tries to imagine the countless students who walked these paths before her, when they were well maintained and bright, where all they had to worry about were skinned knees from tripping over errant tree roots. 

“One to your right,” Zabini's voices breaks her reverie, and she turns, slowly, to see the creature standing still in a nestle of thorns. It seems to be stuck between the winding trunks of the trees, as if it had tried to chase something through and gotten caught. Its gaze is unfocused and it doesn't appear to have noticed them, for which Hermione is grateful. 

Malfoy steps forward so that he stands beside her, “Is it...is it sleeping?”

And as absurd as the concept is, she thinks he's right. The creature's eyes are crusted and she can see maggots squirming in the bite wound that had turned it on its shoulder. Through these irritants, it does not move, it does not breathe, but it is still assuredly alive...in the not-quite fashion that all of the infected mock true life. 

“Not quite,” Nott says, his gaze not on its face but lower. Hermione follows it and she wants to throw up, but she swallows the bile stinging in her throat. 

Something had eaten the lower half of its body, bones and all, so that it seems to support itself on air from the waist up. A dark pool of coagulated blood soaks the ground beneath it.

Luna reaches out as if to close the creatures eyes, and it springs back to life. She snatches her hand back with a speed that Hermione had never associated with her before, and Zabini pulls her back further. It gnashes its teeth and groans, wriggling itself within its confined space. The bark of the trees creaks and crackles, and Hermione steps back just in time for the creature to fall face forward. 

Beside her, Malfoy covers his mouth and takes a deep breath, as though he could filter the smell through his hands. 

“At least we know it won't follow us,” Nott mutters, and moves to keep walking. The other Slytherins move to follow, but Hermione sees the way the creature reaches out its arms and slowly drags itself forward. She tells the boys to wait, taking a tentative step back to giver herself space from its reaching, rotting hand.

“You go on,” Luna tells her, brushing a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear. “I'll make sure he rests.”

And Hermione hates that she can't face this, but she turns her back and tells herself that she's protecting Luna from the unseen threats around them, not that Luna is protecting her from the cold reality of their new lives. 

\--

Malfoy seems to think that the time will pass faster if he tells them about his experiences in the forest. He tries to regale them with the horrific sight of watching a hooded figure feast upon a dead unicorn. But even without personally seeing this, Hermione had seen her fair share of horrors in these trees, and would rather not share them. She instead warns them about what her experiences mean.

“If we stay away from the webs, the Acromantula shouldn't be a threat,” Nott mutters. 

Zabini snorts, “Acromantula are always a threat.”

Luna makes an inquisitive noise, “Do you suppose they might become sick if they eat one of the lost ones?”

In the silence this question brings, Hermione moves to guide them through the trees. She may not know where the nest is, but she knows the signs to avoid more vividly than any of the others. 

\-- 

They all feel the shimmer of magic when they finally pass the anti-apparation wards that wrap themselves around Hogwarts' boundaries. Hermione cannot help the shiver that wracks her body, for it feels vaguely similar to a disillusionment charm. 

“If Granger was right about this path,” Nott speaks as they huddle in a circle, “the edge of Hogsmeade's High Street should be close by. If we're lucky, the majority of them will have already wandered to the gates and out of town. But we'll still need to be on alert.” He looks around at each of them, “We stay together, no matter what. We clear the rooms before we start grabbing supplies. At least two of us stand guard at all times.”

“We know, Theo,” Malfoy manages to drawl, “and we know we're looking for medicine and for whatever food hasn't gone rotten. We might even stumble across some Playwizard for Longbottom and Boot.” 

“Terry might prefer Playwitch,” Luna mentions offhandedly. 

“We have to be smart about which places we search,” Nott continues as if nobody had said anything. “So if anybody even jokes about stopping by Honeydukes, I will personally throw them into the Lake covered in squid bait.”

“If things go right, we won't have to do this again for another few months at least, right?” Zabini looked around at them and smirked, “So I say, if anybody does happen to find Odgen's Finest, I know I for one would rather not have to dip into our stash in the Slytherin dorms before we have to. ”

Hermione has had a lot of experience with ignoring the squabbles that erupt among boys, and perhaps even more in bringing their attention back to what is important. As they continue to bicker, she pulls simple little drawstring bags the size of her hand out of her knapsack. She hands them out and explains the enlargement charm she'd used on each of them. Malfoy gives her an assessing look while Zabini gapes at her. 

“You actually made Mary fucking Poppins' bag?”

Hermione can't help but smile. 

But her smile fades when they leave the sanctuary the trees lend them.

“So much for that idea,” and she hates how her voice shakes, after all that she's seen and done. Beside her, Malfoy has gone pale and Nott is cursing violently under his breath. Luna's eyes are scanning, and Zabini is gripping her hand so tight their knuckles are white.

The horde that rests in the streets of Hogsmeade's high street are making guttural noises, but have not seemed to notice their presence. Even if Hermione had not been able to see them, the smell would have alerted her. It's a strange combination of old blood, rancid meat and the earthy smell of the forest nearby, overpowering but sadly growing more familiar. 

Hermione had thought she'd become used to the smell of death. But these creatures have been standing in an almost dormant state, drenched uncaring with the Scottish rains and left to dry out under the late summer sun. Some of them appear muggle, wearing tattered and bloody camping attire; most of them are witches and wizards, some still with their wands strapped to their forearms or sticking out of their pockets. 

“We could cause a distraction,” she offers, “lead them away from The Three Broomsticks, the apothecary...”

“No,” Malfoy whispers, “too much risk for too little gain.”

“We won't know unless we try.”

Malfoy looks her in the eye and just shakes his head. “You're not thinking straight, Granger. Think of this way: would you want Potter and Weasley to try it?”

She bites her lip against the clenching in her chest and turns away from his gaze.

\--

When they had quickly adjusted the plan to check the houses, they had known that it would be a long shot. But Hermione is amazed to discover that most of the defensive wards in the homes of Hogsmeade still function properly. They are not prepared to break down these more sophisticated locks, but a few homes are easier. Hermione motions the lingering group forward after a simple alohamora, and Malfoy shoves her back against Nott's chest before swinging the door open as if he owned the place.

Malfoy and Zabini slip forward silently, Luna standing with her back against Nott and Hermione to protect them from behind. Nott is tense behind her, and she wonders if he's upset that she inadvertently touched him; he had only ever seemed to allow Daphne Greengrass that privilege. But when she moves to step away from him and into the house, he grips her forearm and tells her to wait, his tone harsh.

Zabini soon pokes his head back out of the doorway, “All clear.”

Most of the tension seems to melt from Nott's chest, and Hermione feels a hot flash of shame. He was just afraid for his friends, too.

\--

They're standing at the threshold of the last house they'd managed to break into. They've searched every nook and cranny, used summoning spells when they felt they could risk it, but they fact is they've barely found enough rations to support their small search group.

“We knew this was a possibility from the get go,” Zabini reminds them, “so I guess we have to decide what to do now?”

Nott glances at Malfoy, “Your manor?”

Malfoy stiffens and scowls at Nott, who shrugs and mutters, “it was just a suggestion...”

“A pretty terrible one,” Zabini responds, his gaze flickering between Malfoy, Luna and Hermione. 

“I'm still not sure apparating is a good idea,” Hermione says, “but it might be our only option. There's no way we can cover the kind of ground we need to by walking. Especially not if we find the resources we need. There has to be a way to get them back to the castle quickly, if not ourselves.”

“We might not be able to apparate, especially not in and out of Hogwarts, but if my memory serves, there's a loophole in that defence.” Nott leans against the wall and taps at his chin. “Certain magical creatures that live to serve.”

Hermione pieces together what he's saying quickly, and scowls. “We are not endangering house elves!”

Nott shrugs, “They'd be useful to scope out the places we'd plan on apparating, crucial to get our supplies back and forth, and it's no huge loss if we lost one, there's plenty more at--”

He stops talking quickly when Hermione steps angrily into his face and raises her arm as if to slap him. Malfoy quickly grabs her arm and tells her to calm down in a bewildered fashion. But she can't calm down. Her ears are ringing with the sound of Winky crying as she talks about the Crouch family, great big tears splashing against the kitchen floor. As she yanks her arm out of Malfoy's hand and grabs at the front of Nott's shirt, she hears Kreacher breaking down about Regulus, his favourite Black family member. And as she blinks against the angry, frustrated tears these memories bring, she can see Dobby dying in Harry's arm.

“How can you be so callous! Just because they aren't witches or wizards, it doesn't make their life worth less!”

Nott blinks, raises incredulous eyebrows down at her, “It's not as if I'm talking about Centaurs or Merfolk. House elves like serving us, they'd probably push each other over to do this for us.”

Hermione can feel her face heating up and her blood thrumming with her anger and magic. But cool hands on her wrists bring her focus away from these memories, and back to the moment. She follows the pale hands and looks into silvery grey eyes. 

Luna smiles sadly, “Boys can be dumb, can't they? And Slytherin boys sometimes can't follow the threads. They don't always understand things outside their experience. But Hermione, if we keep yelling, we'll attract attention.”

As she breathes in a deep, calming breath and releases Nott's shirt, glaring fiercely at him, she can hear a similar breath of relief behind her. When Luna releases her wrists, Hermione whirls and levels Malfoy with the same glare, which only has him blinking in confusion.

Zabini clears his throat awkwardly in the silence that falls over them, “Alright, let's consider this argument on hold. We still need a plan. And let's make it quick, because Luna's right, we don't want to get those thing's attention. ”

Nott scoffs but nods, straightening his shirt. Malfoy tucks his hands into his pockets and looks briefly at Hermione, before turning his attention to the ceiling. “We could always summon some brooms from Splintwitches. They aren't exactly the greatest, but they're better than the school ones.”

Zabini shakes his head, “Too many infected gathered in the streets. They might follow the brooms right too us. Not to mention, Theo's summoning spells aren't the greatest.”

“Hey,” Nott glares, but Zabini waves his hand dismissively.

“But we could try our old friends,” Luna suggests. They all turn to look at her, and she smiles. “I think we could all see them now.”

\--

They meet three stray creatures as they creep their way back to the forest. One of them is a child.

The little boy's hair is mused like somebody or something had gripped it tight and pulled his head back. Half of his right cheek is missing. 

“Fucking hell,” Malfoy sums up everybody's feelings.

Nott levels a by now familiar confringo on one of the infected as it stumbles forward, and the blast removes its head in a burst of a bone and blood. Luna whips her wand through the motions for reducto at the other adult, and it hits the creature's chest. Red mist fills the air surrounding it, but it keeps walking forward despite the sizable hole in its chest. Malfoy flings a cutting hex, catching it through the throat. Its head rolls off the body and thunks against the ground.

Yet the child continues to walk towards them, uncaring of its fallen companions. The five exchange uneasy glances, each unwilling to move forward. 

“We can't just leave it,” Nott finally mumbles. But though he raises his wand, he doesn't cast any charm, hex or jinx. 

It is Zabini who steps forward, quickly casting defodio, the gouging charm. He repeats the spell until he has a decent hole, which the boy tumbles into as he tries to follow them. Zabini quickly casts another spell, lifting the dirt he'd moved and covering the boy and hole. Its growls are muffled instantaneously.

“We bury so few now,” he says quietly. “Hopefully he can't crawl back out.”

\--

It's hard to tell precisely how long they spend walking through the trees, but eventually, they have to stop for rest. Hermione's feet are throbbing and she can feel the exhaustion weighing heavy on her shoulders, but she looks around them uneasily. 

In the year she had spent in hiding with Harry and Ron, she always had some form of protection from the elements to return to. The protection of a Fidilus charm or even the wizarding tent, with numerous wards surrounding it, had helped ease her worries into something low, thrumming under her skin but still tolerable. But out here in the forest, she does not have a tent to seek a night's sleep in. They have only the canopy above them and the thick trunks around them. Hermione wonders if she could sleep within the branches, but knows the risk of falling is too great. 

The fear is familiar to her. When they were looking for Horcruxes, any noise could have been those of a snatcher. If they were found, they would have been tortured at best, most likely killed. It had been terrifying to live with that threat, doubled with the guilt of what she'd done to protect her loved ones, and what her friends were going through while she, essentially, hid. But she had known then that it was the right thing to do, that it had to be done. And she feels that guilt again as she thinks of Ginny, of Harry's plea to stay at Hogwarts, of how her decision to seek out supplies was endangering Luna. But she thinks of how Winky had confessed to her that the kitchens stocks were running very low without the usual deliveries from Hogsmeade, and she knows in her heart of hearts that she's doing the right thing.

She goes through the familiar motions of warding the area as Zabini nestles himself into the crook of roots, tugging Luna down into his arms. Malfoy and Nott stand in the centre of the circle she makes around them and she can feel their gaze, but she does not explain. When she's done, Malfoy nods, but Nott starts to cast his own wards. She buries the flash of annoyance in the rationalization that he is not doing any harm, and that you can never be too careful when the smallest noise could indicate death.

Or perhaps worse, the transformation into the undead. 

\--

They take it in turns to stand watch. When it's her turn, she peers out into the darkness with her wand clutched tight in her hand. She listens to the night sounds of the forest, to owls screeching as they chase their prey, to the snap of twigs and the rustle of wind through the trees. She thinks she can hear moans drifting on the wind, imagines that every shifting shadow is a creature intent on a witch or wizard as a midnight snack. 

When she rests, she drifts in and out of a light sleep. She can hear whispers around her, but when she tries to focus, they flit into something else entirely.

She can hear Luna humming something haunting and beautiful. She listens to Ron explain the best way to skip rocks and can feel his warmth envelop her. He smells of fresh mown grass and an expensive cologne. Malfoy calls her an idiot for not bringing a sweater. Zabini asks about a wedding, and Harry tells her about the ring he's bought for Ginny. 

She can hear her mother laughing at a joke her father stumbles through, and she's laughing with them as the dead break through the front door and into the sitting room. And she's laughing and laughing until she's shrieking not in mirth but in desperation, crying out for her mum and dad as they scream at her, 'how could you leave us', 'is this your kind?', and their words turn into the moans of the infected and she cries as they grip her arms in their clammy dead hands and she can smell their rancid breath...

“Granger,” Malfoy shakes her awake, and she blinks at the soft, vulnerable light in his eyes. She's horrified to realize she's been crying in her sleep. She moves to scrub the tears from her face, but her hand runs into his, poised to cup her cheek but not quite touching her. She stills, and he's gazing at where their hands rest against one another. She swallows, instinctively, at the soft look in his eyes that she has never seen so close. But his expression closes off as he clears his throat, pulling his hand back and standing back up.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, but he waves his hand dismissively. His skin is so pale it seems to reflect the filtering moonlight, and with a jolt, she realizes he's no longer wearing his pullover. She feels the fabric covering her bare arms and her heart gives a fierce thump.

“I'd wager you've faced enough to fuel your share of nightmares for a few years,” he speaks without looking at her, and she bites at her lip. 

“I imagine you have as well,” she offers, because she knows that olive branches can't only be held in one direction.

He quirks his lips at her. But his smile is so foreign on him that she can't help but compare it to the ease of Ron's grin, and she feels more guilt than she knows what to do with.

\--

The cry that Luna gives out is terrifying, in part because it sounds like she's in agonizing pain. Instead, she explains, it is merely to announce herself, to tell them that they are not dangerous. They walk forward for a while, following Luna's lithe form as it slips between trees, eyes scanning for threats. She calls out a few more times, and each time, Hermione's breath catches in her throat. It's a terrible risk, attractive attention in the forest. 

It is a tense ten minutes, but eventually, they find what they're looking for. It's the snapping of a twig that has Hermione twirling in spot to her right, wand held up on instinct. But the creature she sees moving in the trees is an omen of death that she welcomes instead of fears. 

Malfoy move closer to her. “I've never seen them before,” he murmurs, “and I've got to say...they're really ugly.”

Hermione snorts, “Didn't you learn not to insult magical creatures after Buckbeak?”

“Do not bring up that damnable chicken.”

Luna blinks and leans her hand out to pat at the nose of one of the Thestrals. Its purplish tongue licks at the her hand inquisitively and she giggles. “Tickles.”

“Luna,” Zabini murmurs, “are you sure it's safe to do that? I mean...it's got blood dripping from its mouth.”

“It looks like they've fed recently,” Nott says, looking at them with distaste. 

“But on what?” Hermione bites her lip, “The Hogwarts herd is used to having their food brought to them.”

“Oh,” Luna says, and it is perhaps the saddest she has ever sounded, “we don't have to hurt them. They haven't eatten anything bad.”

“How could you know that?” Nott asks, frowning. 

It is Malfoy who answers, nodding his head towards a break in the trees, “Because judging by the truly absurd amount of feathers back there, I'm willing to guess they've remembered how to hunt.”

Luna smiles serenely at him. Hermione approaches the creatures cautiously. Although she had ridden on them before, and she knows they aren't the violent creatures the books describe, it's surreal being able to see them now. The white, pupil-less eyes are eerily reminiscent of the infected. As it snuffles curiously at her hair, she can't help but pull her arms closer to her body. She knows being tense will just make it tense, but she can't help it. She envies Luna's ease in facing the creatures, watching with wary eyes as the girl runs her hand down the neck of one, 

Nott walks forward carefully, edging around the gathered thestrals, to peek into the clearing. He stiffens, and turns his attention back to the group. “Get away from them,” he insists.

Luna tilts her head at him, and Hermione stiffens. Zabini snakes an arm around Luna's waist, as if preparing to pull her back bodily. Malfoy is creeping around the thestrals, who stand still with their tails flickering, some pawing at the ground as if digging, to get a better look. Hermione wants to follow, to reaffirm for herself if the Thestrals are carrying the infection in their bites, but she dares not move. Because even if they themselves are not infected, they might be able to contaminate with their bites.

“'Low?” a weak and familiar voice reaches her ears.

Her hands shake, and almost without thinking, she pushes the thestral that was nuzzling her hair away, rushing forward towards where Nott and Malfoy stand. When she tries to push past them, Malfoy grabs her around the waist and pulls her back. “No, Granger,” he insists, “there's nothing you can do!”

She kicks back against him, squirming, desperate to reach her friend. Malfoy keeps trying to pull her back, telling her to calm down, they would need St Mungo's, which is most assuredly not even operating anymore, that he's probably infected and it's a miracle he's not trying to eat them already.

“You bloody ferret, let me go!” she finally wails, using all of her strength to wrench herself forward. Malfoy loosens his grip as if in shock, and in that moment, she rushes free. Nott curses and goes to grab her arm, and even Zabini tells her to wait, but she doesn't listen. All she processes is the familiar form laying back against a tree, propped up weakly, blood dripping from its mouth.

“'Ermione,” he whispers in his gruff voice, “sight for sore eyes.” He blinks heavily. “C'ya with Malfoy n 'is lot fo'?” His coughs, his usual accent made almost indecipherable as he speaks so lowly. 

Hermione gives him a watery smile, gripping one of his massive hands in her own. His skin is clammy but blistering hot to the touch. “Hagrid...”

Hagrid had gone into the forest to hunt for food a few weeks ago. When he hadn't returned, most off the people left at school presumed he had run away. Hermione knew he would never do that, knew on some rational level that they had probably lost him to the flesh eating monsters their fellows had become. 

“Hagrid, what happened?”

He chuckles, though it isn't funny at all. “Centaurs. Ne'er forgave me for bring'n Grawpy here. Said if humans wanted to hunt, they could fish the lake.” He coughs again, and his saliva is speckled with blood. “Cracked me ribs somethin' fierce, just barely managed to crawl away.”

“That's horrible,” Hermione gasps, but it's clearly not a strong enough word, nor is it the whole story. Because one of Hagrid's legs is bent at an unnatural angle, he's covered in blood, and he smells like the sour stench of untreated wounds.

“They came to help me,” he says of the Thestrals, “brought me food. Kept me safe. But one of 'ose things...” And he's starting to cry, and Hermione squeezes his hand tight. “It bit me, Hermione.”

“Oh Hagrid, no,” she sobs.

She can feel the others gathered behind her back, their gaze on the two of them. She feels it when Luna comes to sit next to her, placing her pale hands on top of Hagrid's forehead. Hagrid inhales sharply at the cold touch. Luna looks at Hermione and shakes her head, and Hermione knew the moment Hagrid said he'd been bit, but it's still a shock. 

“What do you want me to do?” Hermione whispers to Hagrid. 

He tries his hardest to focus on her. “Don't let me hurt anyone, Hermione.”

She cries, shaking her head, and envelops him in a tight hug. 

\--

She feels guilty for it, but she wishes fervently that her boys were with her.

Luna is a sombre presence that she welcomes, and she appreciates the Slytherin trio's silence, their respect, as she digs the grave by hand. But what she really needs is Ron's reassuring arms, Harry's awkward but sincere words. She needs Ron's teasing, sometimes absurd jokes to lighten the mood. She needs Harry's shoulder, his soothing hand on her back. She needs to be with people who could comfort her and mourn with her, to really understand what the world has lost with Hagrid's death.

She thinks of Harry, digging Dobby's grave by hand. She thinks of Ron, tossing his handful of dirt onto Fred's coffin.

She pats the earth down over Hagrid's body, tries desperately not to think of the way his skull had cracked from the force of her spell. It may have been a mercy killing, it may have been what he wanted, but she shakes and she shakes, because unlike her beloved boys, the loved one she buries is the one she has killed.

Malfoy eventually kneels next to her, "You know, Granger...we can't save everyone. We're all going to get blood on our hands. We've all lost important people. It sucks. It's not going to get easier. But...you're going to be okay." He looks at her out of the corner of his eyes. "We're going to be okay."

And it's not what she wants, or even what she really needs to hear, but as she rubs the tears from her eyes, she knows that it's true all the same.


	4. Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They know where to go; now just to get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Gore

The first time she had managed to cast a corporeal patronus, Ron had grinned at her and joked, “Did you think about your first trip to the library?” She had rolled her eyes fondly as he and Harry laughed while her otter swam brightly through the air between them. 

But now, no matter what happy memory she tries, her patronus will not conjure properly. Standing in this dark glen, surrounded by Thestrals and with the grave of her dear friend at her feet, it's difficult to imagine being happy ever again. Hagrid had always seemed so invincible to her, his half giant blood adding an extra layer of magical protection to his already intimidating bulk. But he had also been one of the most kind and gentle people that Hermione had ever known. To think that he was gone by her own hand, no matter how willing he had been, weighed her heart down like lead. 

There was no way she could think of anything strong enough for the spell right now. Not when she could hear the whispers niggling at the back of her mind. If Hagrid had been overcome by the infection than what chance did her boys, her stupidly brave and hotheaded boys, have of surviving? If Hagrid and Aberforth and so many talented witches and wizards, who knows how many well armed muggles, had been overwhelmed by happenstance and sheer numbers, what chance did she have of surviving? 

She might have lost herself completely to these dark thoughts, had Malfoy not loudly cleared his throat. Hermione turned herself to look at him. 

“We need a plan,” he says, “beyond 'get on the flesh eating skeletal horses and hope for the best'.”

He waits a moment, looking around at the others. When Zabini shakes his head with an exasperated but fond sigh, it dawns on her that he's trying to make a joke. She can't help the small smile that twitches at her lips.

“They'll be fine at the castle for a little while longer.” Nott picks up the thread of conversation, rolling his eyes at Malfoy. “McGonnagal knows how to ration, and without us there, they'll go even longer. Boot's still there, so if they need to restock the nutrient potions, at least he's competent enough to make a decent brew.”

“So, Granger,” Malfoy continues, “here's the real question: are we going to look for Potter, or for the best places for supplies?”

She blinks, taken aback and looking at each of them in turn. Nott is frowning at the both of them, Zabini looking at her expectantly, and Luna...

Luna has her back to them, staring off after the flickering light of her rabbit. Hermione watches the patronus bound back to the castle. The light reminds her of the starlight dancing in the skies above them as they all gathered, the Weasley family, herself and Harry, for one of Molly's home cooked feasts. The air had been warm, the bugs repelled with simple charms, and Hermione had really and truly felt that this is where she belonged, with this magical, enchantingly loving family.

Stay at Hogwarts. Stay safe. 

“Both.” She levels them all with her most determined expression. “We can look for supplies and we can look for our families, too.”

Nott snorts and eyes the Thestrals with distaste. “Well, unless you were planning on storming Azkaban, we needn't bother with mine, Granger.”

Hermione winces, and she looks at Malfoy out of the corner of her eye. He steadfastly stares at the trees behind her, and she mutters an apology that neither boy really reacts to. 

“Do you have a destination in mind, Granger?” Zabini asks, looking at the gathered Thestrals suspiciously. The one closest to him snorts. 

She tells them exactly where they need to try. 

\----

It is not that she is afraid of heights. She has never had a problem in astronomy class, and when she and her parents had vacationed in Greece, she had actually enjoyed the flight. What terrifies her is being out of control. She has always struggled with brooms because of this. The enchantments on broomsticks wear off, the tiniest of fluctuations in the wind can throw them off course. If she closes her eyes she can see Harry's broom trying to buck him off into the sky. It does not matter how much she tells herself that it was a powerful jinx, because that reality makes it worse—that somebody could simply and willfully overpower the enchantments and throw somebody to their death is truly terrifying. 

The terror that comes from riding a magical creature is perhaps tenfold. She has done it several times before, but it has never gotten easier. She is always aware that the creatures have minds of their own. Just as a dog may bite its owner, no matter how tamed a creature is, there is always the chance they will turn against their handlers.

To make matters worse, she's very aware that the Thestrals have no real connection to her or any of the others. 

As a consequence, she spends the journey with her eyes clenched shut. Her body wracks with shivers, partly from the cold and mostly from the fear. She mumbles wand movements into the back she clings to. 

Hermione wasn't sure how Luna could bare to ride side-saddled, particularly bareback on the bony creatures. When they took off into the air, all she could do was squeak and wrap her arms tight around Luna's waist, hiding her face between her shoulder blades. She had her legs clenched so tightly against the Thestral that she was still terrified that it would throw them from its back. And after this thought had entered her mind, she was too scared to loosen her muscles in fear that the shift in pressure would startle the animal. But the Thestral reacted the same as Luna, who hadn't so much as flinched from Hermione's tight grip. 

She was grateful for this, because it reminds her of the times she had clung to Harry, to Ron, and had survived numerous, terrifying flights. She thinks of the last time she rode a Thestral and the disaster that waited for her at the end of that flight. 

She tries to picture this ride with any of the Slytherin boys to lighten her own mood, but it doesn't help distract her. 

“My arse is killing me!” she thinks she hears on the wind. It sounds a bit like Malfoy, his high voice wailing in the wind rushing past her ears, but it also sounds like something Ron would say to lighten the mood. 

“You don't have one!” comes Nott's voice, just as distorted and hard to make out, and just like Harry's rebuttals.

But from the way the wind whips itself against her cheeks and through her ears, soon all she can hear are moans, and she has to bite back the whimper of fear.

\----

It's hours later, the sun long set. She feels like her hands are frozen together, not even the warmth from Luna's torso able to keep the pins and needles from her arms. The only reason she knows that they've reached the right place is because Luna shifts slightly. The movement startles her, and her eyes fly open in terror. 

“Wha-” The words die in Hermione's throat. The last time she had chanced opening her eyes they were miles above trees and fields as far as her squinted gaze could see. But now she can see the outline of familiar, tall buildings in the moonlight. For one terrifying moment she feels like the Thestrals are diving straight into the concrete. But then her mind catches up with her and she realizes they're just flying in tighter and smaller circles, going lower and slower until they're basically hovering over the roof of the tallest tenement. 

It is not the right spot. But it's probably as close as they can get from the air, she rationalizes.

Hermione doesn't even wait until they touch down onto the roof, instead practically jumping off of the Thestral's back. She trips on the landing and scrapes her palm when she tries to brace the fall, but is just so glad to be on solid ground that she can't bring herself to care. She can hear the others landing around her, the slap of their trainers on the concrete ringing in her eyes as she breathes in deeply. Over her breath she can hear Malfoy's disgruntled grumblings and Zabini's distinct back cracking. And over that, she can hear moaning and the rapid beating of wings. 

“Ah fuck,” Nott swears loudly behind her.

That's when she realizes what she hasn't heard—the clack of hooves on the ground. She whips her head up, eyes widening in horrified realization that the Thestrals are not landing with them, but instead flying off up into the sky. 

“Flipendo!” Luna's voice cries out, and Hermione can feel the heat of the spell graze past her cheek, the bang ringing in her ears.

There's a garbled moan behind her, and she turns just in time to see one of the infected fall over the edge of the tenement from the force of the jinx. Hermione barely has time to blink before Luna is by her side and tugging her up into a standing position. The other girl is silent as she runs her hands over her shoulders, down her arms, before zeroing in on her faintly bloody palm. She stiffens slightly, but Hermione shakes her head quickly. Behind her, Malfoy is moving as if to rush over, but Nott grabs onto his arm and holds him back. 

“No, no, I landed funny,” she quickly reassures Luna. Hermione's gaze darts down to where she landed, squinting to see under the light of the moon, and doesn't see any blood or viscera to have possibly infected her. “And nothing bit me or scratched me or anything. I promise.”

Luna meets her gaze and she looks relieved but reproachful. Over her shoulders, she can see Zabini with his wand lit up in a powerful Lumos, checking the shadows for any other threats. Nott is smacking Malfoy around the back of the head. 

“Please look next time, Hermione,” Luna admonishes quietly, fiercely. A part of Hermione bristles and another part feel a hot flash of shame. She gives a stiff nod as her mind goes through all the scenarios that could have been, berating herself. She was so desperate to get back to the safety of land that she had somehow forgotten of the threats it held. It doesn't matter to her that the infected was far enough away that she could have recovered and seen it, because the fact is that she didn't. 

She can't afford to let anything happen to her or the others. On a rational level, she knows this. But she can't have her eyes everywhere, she can't see everything. That's one of the main reasons why she has the others with her. 

With a soft exhale, she gives Luna a thin smile of gratitude and understanding. Luna smiles back at her and pats her arm in an almost absent fashion. Then she drops down to her knees in front of Hermione, pulling her knapsack off her shoulder and riffling through its contents. Hermione blinks down at her, taking a small step backwards, but then Luna is standing again with Madame Pomfrey's medical kit in her hands. She pulls out a cotton swab and some antiseptic, going through the motions of cleansing the wound with familiarity. It's the smallest of first aid measures, but it's what they all know they have to do just in case. 

Zabini gave the both of them a once over after checking the rest of the roof. He nods to Hermione and waits patiently for Luna to finish bandaging the abrasion on her palm. Hermione smiles at him weakly, feeling the aftershock of shame all over again. When he asks her if she's alright she shrugs, embarrassed. 

Once Luna releases her hand, satisfied, Zabini presses his forehead against Luna's. Hermione looks away with a flush to her face, trying to block the quiet murmurs between the two. 

“Granger,” Nott calls to her, illuminated by the wand he holds high over his head and the moonlight. She hurriedly rushes toward where he and Malfoy are standing. As she starts to get closer she becomes aware of the moaning coming up from the streets so far below them. She bites at her lip as she takes in the scowl on Nott's face and the pallid look to Malfoy's skin. 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. When she opens her eyes, Malfoy has stepped to the side and buried his face in his hand. She must have made some sort of noise because he looks up tiredly. They met one another's gaze and he shrugs helplessly before motioning her forward. 

“How exactly do you expect us to get through all of that?” Nott asks her with incredulously raised eyebrows, gesturing downward.

When she looks down, she couldn't stop the whimper if she tried. 

\-- -- 

They've gathered in a rough circle, close to the center of the rooftop. Hermione has cast a few small magical fires that sit around them, mostly casting light instead of heat. They had tried to open the roof door to stay in a flat for the night, but a mad scratching noise on the other side and rough moans had given them pause. Instead, Nott had cast a permanent sticking charm on the door and Zabini was keeping his eye on it just in case. Luna had distributed some of their rations as they settled in, too tense to sleep and needing to plan.

Now, Malfoy watches Hermione wear a hole in the concrete from her pacing. “What about trying to call the Thestrals back?” 

“Even if we did, they couldn't get us much closer,” Hermione shoots the idea down with an irritated flap of her hand. “I highly doubt they'd risk any lower to the ground, not that I could blame them. It looks like this is the safest spot they could reach.”

“How much further do we have to go?”

“My best guess would be about three blocks. I think I can actually see the roof from here.”

“Then why don't we just apparate directly there?” He arches his eyebrows when she briefly pauses to glare at him. “You've told us the address, it's not like we'd be bounced back. Are there anti apparation wards we need to worry about?”

“It is entirely possible that we could theoretically apparate directly onto the doorstep.” She turns sharply on her heel, one of her hands clutching at her scalp as her mind ran through the possible outcomes. “But that has the same dangers we've discussed before. For instance, without being able to see the spot directly, we could accidentally apparate directly on top of one of the non-Inferi.”

Zabini interrupted, “What, do you think they can see the house? I thought you said there was a Fidelius Charm in place.”

“There is. But with so many secret keepers it is a very weak one, and I'm not sure all the other secret keepers are...well, not one of those things. There's no way to know how a secret keeper being infected could have impacted the spell as a whole.” She bit at her lower lip as she explained, “Besides, it is completely possible that they're all over the street, like they are here. Not to mention the possibility there may be infected people inside of the house that we have to deal with too.”

“Remind me again why this place is so important and why we're risking our damn lives to get there if there's a possibility of these things being inside it?” 

She turned her head to glare at Nott, stopping in place and resting her hands on her hips. “Excuse me for actually trying to think of a long term plan!” she snapped. “This is the safest place I could think of outside of Hogwarts. If we can secure it as a safe house, we'd not only have a have a safe space to return to on supply runs, but we'd have someplace to bring possible survivors to. Not to mention that if we secure the house we could work at establish a connection back to Hogwarts, possibly even with a portkey.”

Nott stared at her for a moment, assessing, before nodding in satisfaction. 

Malfoy didn't bother to hide an amused smirk before piping up again. “So, here's a possible plan. How about you,” he gestured to Hermione, “apparate directly onto the doorstep, taking two of us with you sidealong. Then you can apparate back to grab the other two, while we hold a defensive line in case there's any on the street.”

Hermione stared at Malfoy with wide, incredulous eyes. He spread his hands as if to ask her “what?”

“Now who's being a reckless lion?”

Malfoy scrunched his nose in distaste and reeled back a little as if she'd slapped him. Luna smiled and Zabini snickered, but Hermione was only peripherally aware of these things. All of her focus was on Malfoy, waiting for a proper response. She didn't have to wait long.

“Ignoring that incredibly rude little outburst --”

“Little outburst?” she bristled. “Have you forgotten the main reason direct apparation was off the table in the first place? We just discussed it!”

“Apparating one at a time would be foolhardy, but if we did it as a group--”

“All it takes is one,” Zabini interrupts, rolling his eyes skyward. “And keep it down a bit Granger, the louder you get the more I question the strength of that sticking spell.”

Hermione scowled at him, but bit her tongue as she looked back towards the door. She couldn't see anything, but if she strained her ears, she thought she could hear the scratching and scrambling again. Malfoy muttered something she couldn't quite hear, but Nott snorted and started to speak.

“It's a stupid plan because of the incalculable variables, Malfoy, please bring your head out of the clouds and back to reason.” Malfoy scowled at him, but Nott simply went on. “The risk is in the unknown; if one is on the front stoop and we appear right on top of it, chances are it will have the time to attack us before we even realize it's there. If we apparate and there's not one but there are a few on the street, the noise would attact them—again, before we even notice them, giving them the advantage.”

“Plus,” Zabini drawled, “Granger said there might be danger inside, too. We need to scope the outside out first and you know it.”

Malfoy looked as if he was sulking, and the whole process seemed to be quite familiar to the boys. Hermione caught Luna's gaze and despite her frustration, Hermione couldn't help but mimic her amused smile. 

“When we have sunlight to work with,” Nott continued, “we might be able to do a series of apparations across some of the other roofs. Hopefully we'll be able to see for ourselves. Granger, sit down already, you're driving me up the wall.”

She huffed but settled herself beside Luna, who extended a bottle of water. 

They spent the rest of the night brainstorming a plan until, satisfied, they fell into silence to wait for the sunrise. 

The garbled moans from the streets below don't let up, and the roof wasn't exactly comfortable. Hermione had briefly contemplated casting a cushioning charm, but rationalized that it would be more important to save her magic. Their were too many variables in their plan to waste any of their energies. The others were quiet in the dark, waiting for sunrise and resting from the journey.

At one point, Malfoy got up to check on the door, pressing his ear against the cold metal. The others had settled in silence, Luna dozing at her side, but Hermione focused on the sky. She wished she could count the stars to ease her nerves, seek the constellations and run through years of mental astronomy review, but there was cloud cover as far as the eye could see. After a few moments had passed and Malfoy still hadn't returned to their little circle of warmth, she swivelled her gaze in the direction he had gone. He was sitting with his back against the door to the stairs, staring out into the darkness, one of Hermione's fires causing flickering lights to dance across the lower portion of his face. 

He looked sinister. 

She found that it really unnerved her. As quietly as she could, she pushed herself up and away from the others. Luna twitched in her sleep, stretching a wandering hand, but she sighed in contentment when Zabini shifted beside her, running a hand over her head. She stepped carefully around Nott, who cracked an eye open before turning his back to her, and subsequently, Malfoy.

Malfoy didn't say anything at first, instead choosing to raise a finger to his lips in the universal “shush” and patting the spot beside him with his other hand. She paused to press her own ear against the metal door, sighing softly at the silence that greeted her. Closing her eyes, she rests her forehead against the cool metal and lets the tension seep out of her body. Then she slid down into a crouch before awkwardly turning to sit. 

A soft exhale brushing against her cheek made her pause and slowly open her eyes.

All she could really see were Malfoy's eyes, half lidded and silvery grey. He was breathing softly, the soft exhales tickling her skin, and she felt her cheeks heating up in a flush. She bit at her bottom lip in a nervous habit, and this close, it's impossible to miss the way his eyes flicker down just so to watch her. She thinks that she should move away, should want to, but...

Malfoy's face is so close she can feel the heat from the flush slowly rising to his face. It's a smooth blush that somehow compliments his pale skin, rather than the blotchy look her own embarrassment manifests as. She shifts, almost unconsciously, and her shoulders brush his. 

He inhales sharply and gives himself a small shake, leaning back just enough so that they are no longer touching. Hermione can't help but feel a little cheated somehow, and a part of her wants to run from this situation, these odd feelings twisting in her gut. She settles for clearing her throat and pulling at strands of her unruly hair, giving him a moment to compose himself and herself something to do with her hands.

Before the silence can become awkward, Malfoy sighed. “I still think you should stay with Nott.”

She rolled her eyes and fell into the familiarity of bickering with him.

\--

Hearing about the death toll through others had been shocking in an abstract, scholarly way. Harry's letters had danced around the details. She had thought that the sight of Hogsmeade's oddly still but numerous undead had prepared her for this. 

She had been wrong.

There were infected crammed into the streets below them, groaning and shifting, practically shoulder to shoulder and rippling like a demented body of water. She could see them moving through the shattered windows of the tenement across the street. Further up the street, where the crowd was thinner, she could see them fumbling around after things she couldn't see, and some simply laying in the streets as if they were taking a nap.

Seeing them in the full light of day, Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Standing on the roof and carefully looking down from the edge, it wasn't hard for her to picture them as the people they used to be. She could imagine people rushing to catch the bus and window shopping, could hear the echoes of their laughter as they tripped out of clubs and hailed the taxis that are now crashed through the windows of the surrounding buildings. 

The undulating mass below her was a hollow mockery of life, and it made something curl up inside of her and want to cry. 

She took a step back away from the edge and tipped her head back, trying to breathe in fresh air instead of the smell of decay from below. Behind her she could hear the others mumbling between themselves, confirming that everybody knows where they are going and what to do if they got in trouble. The sun was bright above them, the wind just cold enough to keep them comfortable. If she kept her gaze on the sky, it was just another gorgeous day. 

She turned back towards the others and really looked at them. Nott and Zabini are tracing their fingers through the air, planning their route as best they were able to make out from the distance. Luna was finishing pinning her hair up into a tight bun and listening to the boys, her calm exterior betrayed by the tapping of her feet, nervous jitters with no discernible rhythm. Malfoy stood with his back to all of them, standing near the edge of the roof's other side, head bowed and studying the alley below them. He held his hand in a white knuckled grip, the same that Hermione held her in. 

“Are we ready?” she asked them, sweeping her gaze around the roof to make sure they hadn't left any supplies. Luna, Zabini and Nott broke from their conversation to nod the affirmative, but Malfoy was quiet for a moment. “Malfoy,” she called to him again, “are we clear?” 

She watched as he took in a breath, shoulder pulling back as he stood up straight. He turned his head to look at them over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow before nodding Hermione found it as infuriating as she found is strangely calming, because he was being his familiar condescending self. 

“Well then,” Nott nodded, “let's get going.” 

Taking another deep breathe, Hermione closed her eyes and turned on the spot.

When she opened her eyes again, she was face to face with an infected, snarling at her through a chain-link fence, pushing its face into the metal with no concept of pain. She bit back a whimper and raised her wand, scanning around her for more immediate threats. The alley was empty, just as Malfoy had said, but for Luna's pale form a few yards away already working at levitating a dumpster. The infected continued to attack the fence, trying to reach her and making a lot of noise. She could hear the shuffling of feet on the concrete, other infected attracted to the noise from their apparation and the snarls. 

For this to work, they had to be fast. 

She cast a quiet body bind jinx on the infected scrambling at the fence, and it fell to the side with a wet squelch from its rotted flesh. Back-peddling away from the fence, she turned her wand to help Luna, wincing at the screech of metal against brick as they positioned it against the fence. Luna cast a quick sticking charm to keep it from rolling, and for a few seconds they both watched, wild eyed and terrified, as the fence started to shake from the infected trying to follow the noise. 

Then Luna was grabbing her hand and tugging her back, both of them running down the alley as quickly but as quietly as they could. Hermione was certain the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears would attract more attention, and tried her best not to think about all the things that could have already gone wrong. 

There was a loud bang from the other side of the building, the earth trembling beneath their already shaky feet as they ran. 

In front of them, a pair of infected appeared from the shadows of a doorway, turning their bodies in a confused fashion as they tried to orient the sounds that attracted them. One of them raised its arm up in a grabbing motion as they saw the two girls rushing forward. 

Luna refused to let go of her hand even then, instead raising her wand with her left hand and cutting a violent strike through the air. The cutting hex cleaved the creatures in two with surprised gurgles, and they had to jump over their outstretched hands as their upper torsos still tried to follow them. Hermione could feel the familiar stitch forming in her side, not from the distance but because her heart was racing from the fear.

They skidded to a halt near the end of the alleyway and gave each other nervous looks, even as they pressed their backs against the brick and hid in the shadows. Zabini was supposed to be there, ensuring the road was clear from any stragglers that Nott and Malfoy's explosive distractions hadn't wrangled. 

A blood stained hand clutched at the corner of the brick at the mouth of the alley, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Zabini's head quickly followed that hand and he beckoned to them, harshly calling in a whisper that barely carried, “go, go, go!”

Squinting her eyes against the bright sun, Hermione followed as Luna finally released her hand. Together the three rushed down the road, ducking behind cars and eyes darting around for any threats the others might have missed. They passed a group of bodies, freshly killed and covered in sickly dark red blood, the same that coated Zabini's hand and arm. A piece of a windshield wiper was sticking out of one of their eye sockets, and Hermione had to bite back her own bile at the sight of a crushed skull, taking in the blood on Zabini's foot, too. 

“Focus, Granger,” Zabini hissed at her. He was crouched behind a car and held his wand close to his body, peeking out around the corner of the fender. There was another explosion that rocked the street, sending vibrations down to them and shaking the busted streetlamp above their heads so that a few shards of glass plummeted to the ground. Hermione scrambled out of the way just before it hit, and managed to duck behind an overturned baby pram. With a growl, a few more infected staggered past, and Zabini quickly pulled his head back into hiding.

Hermione carefully picked up the closest piece of glass, inching her hand out of hiding as she angled it to see the street. There were a few infected lingering at the corner, already losing interest in the mob chasing explosions and flashes of magic down the road. 

“Four,” she mouthed to Luna and Zabini's crouched forms, and they nodded in understanding. Luna slunk to one end of the car and Zabini to the other, intent on sneaking forward for better aim. But as she was moving, Luna's foot crunched on some of the shattered glass. They all froze as the infected swivelled their whole bodies towards the noise, instantly zeroing in on Luna's pale body. 

Acting on instinct, Hermione jumped up and cast a shield charm as they advanced. The forerunner bounced off of the invisible barrier and fell back onto another, and they fell to the ground in an angry tangle of limbs. But they didn't have the time to be defensive, she realized quickly, as two more infected rounded the corner, attracted by the noise. 

Cursing, Zabini sprung out from his hiding spot and threw a quick cutting hex, but he missed; one of their hands fell to the ground and it moved forward, unbothered by the loss. Luna levelled her wand and cast a knockback jinx, sending two of them flying back into the wall. 

“Move!” Zabini called, darting out and trusting the girls to follow. They did with little hesitation, Hermione throwing an incendio over her shoulder as they pushed past the mess, dodging scrambling hands and gnashing teeth. Her spell clipped one of the stragglers in the shoulder, and its clothes quickly lit up in flame. The angry screech it gave was just human enough to sound like a proper scream, and she felt a rush of heat move toward her eyes.

“Hermione, hurry!” Luna's voice brought her attention back, and she pushed herself away from the sight and smell of burning, rotted flesh. Zabini swore because some of the infected that Nott and Malfoy had drawn away were turning back, torn between two ends of chaos and choosing to follow the closer noise. 

“Oh shit,” Zabini yelled, giving up the pretence of stealth when they were met with a wall of infected turning the corner ahead of them. Luna aimed a reducto at the earth in front of the mob, and some of them fell into the hole while the others simply pushed forward, trampling the others underneath. 

There was a distinctive pop, and suddenly Malfoy was grabbing onto Hermione's arm. “Blaise, heads up!” he called out, and without waiting, turned on the spot, forcing Hermione into his arms and turning with him. She felt the air squeeze around them and she stumbled back onto her arse when she could breathe again. They were on another roof, this one covered in splatters of blood, bone, and what looked suspiciously like brain matter. Nott was pushing a body over the edge of the roof, and Hermione watched in horrified wonder as some of the infected from the surrounding, taller buildings fell from broken windows and balconies in their mindless attempts to reach them. 

With a pop, Zabini and Luna appeared, wrapped in a tight embrace. Luna had a streak of blood in her hair from Zabini's arms. Nott took note of the blood and leveled his wand on the both of them in an instant. “Is any yours?” he asked, and Zabini shook his head even as Luna put herself between him and Nott's wand. 

“One of them managed to sneak up on me and I had to get a little personal. Nothing bit me, and Luna is clean too.”

Nott narrowed his eyes but nodded all the same. Malfoy was digging through his bag, and made a satisfied noise before pulling out a pair of omnioculours and holding them out to Hermione. She blinked, uncertain, and he rolled his eyes. “I think I can see the place from here, but I need you to confirm, Granger.”

She made a noise of realization and grabbed the omnioculours, following the finger he jutted out and turning on her knees. She was dimly aware of the others taking on a defensive circle around her, but all of her focus went into the familiar black building in the distance. Quickly scanning the street in front of it, she nodded and handed the device back to Malfoy. 

“There it is, 12 Grimmauld Place,” she spoke to all of them, and made each of them look through the omnioculours in turn. When they all confirmed that they could see it, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hold up,” Nott frowned, turning the dials, “there's something...there's a goddamn house elf on the doorstep.”

Hermione snatched them back so quickly that she accidentally scratched Nott, who scowled at her. She didn't care. “Kreacher!” she exclaimed happily when she saw him, only to blink in shock when he snapped his fingers and disappeared. “Where on earth...”

Luna quickly shouting a spell distracted her, and she looked up to see the other girl trying to knock back a wave of infected who had scaled the balconies around them and fallen in such a way that they landed on the roof. Most landed with grotesque thumps that rattled their bones, snapping and jutting through their skin. A few had landed flat on their skulls, and Hermione suddenly realized why there was so much gore on this roof.

“Time to go,” a sick looking Malfoy grabbed for her again, and as one they dissapparated.

\-- 

His lookout having just confirmed that the area was clear, the wards flashing at the front door were a majour surprise. Grabbing onto the thick pipe he favoured, raised over his head and ready to strike, he yanked the door open and found himself frozen.

Luna Lovegood, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott quickly appeared behind the pair he found his gaze trained on, but he could only blink. Draco Malfoy had his arms wrapped around Hermione Granger, and she wasn't shoving him away or appeared to be injured.

Lowering his weapon, Harry adjusted his glasses and could only sigh, "I have officially seen everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long overdue and for that I apologize. I did have writers block and just general dismay for a while because the story really got away from me, as well as a lot of irl crap, but that's not an excuse. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope to have the next one up within a month but don't want to promise anything. 
> 
> As usual, if you note any glaring errors, please feel free to let me know.


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